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She (Pola Negri) could enact fearless portrayals of erotic passion on-screen, but she could also be humorous, light, and playful—the qualities that had attracted Lubitsch. Her range is on display in A Woman of the World, where her skills are beautifully directed by Malcolm St. Clair, often described as “another Lubitsch.” (The comparison is not incorrect, just incomplete.)

St. Clair’s name is not as well known as it should be. A sophisticated, fashionable man with a distinct cinematic style of his own, he was responsible for many excellent silent comedies, such as The Grand Duchess and the Waiter (1926), Breakfast at Sunrise (1927), and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1928). He began his career as a Keystone Kop and then became a gag writer for Mack Sennett. He codirected shorts with Buster Keaton (The Goat, 1921; The Blacksmith, 1922) and steered dog star Rin Tin Tin vehicles (Find Your Man, Lighthouse by the Sea, both from 1924). The hallmark of St. Clair’s style was his remarkable ability to clarify action and emotion without reliance on titles. He did not use multiple cameras, believing effective performances were obtained by using only one. St. Clair said: “A film actor, unlike a stage actor, must have something to play to. On the stage he has the audience. In the movies, it is the camera. How can you poke five or six cameras into a set … and expect an actor to give a smooth performance?”

The St. Clair philosophy of camera and performance is well illustrated in A Woman of the World. In 1925 he already understood how important it was to build a strong alliance between the viewing audience and a character such as the “tattooed countess.” Since the film is all about Negri’s star power, St. Clair showcases her gift of interior acting, in which she allows an array of clearly, but subtly defined emotions to play across her expressive face. (A radiant beauty, wide-eyed and broad-cheeked, Negri had one of the great faces of silent cinema and she knew how to use it. She’s a completely commanding movie presence.) St. Clair holds on Negri’s close-ups, giving her all the time she needs, letting her create an unspoken “dialogue” with her viewers. In one scene Chester Conklin stands in front of her. To display his familial solidarity he starts (spoiler:)

Using only one camera, St. Clair shows Negri’s response in medium close-ups. She looks stunned, and then unexpectedly amused. In spite of herself, she starts a low laugh, a sort of “I can’t believe this man is doing this” response. She tries to stop, but the laugh builds. She finally lets it erupt full force. She throws back her head and roars, a raucous out-and-out guffaw. She has moved from a detached and elegant sophistication to an involved and girlish participation in an example of the effective St. Clair/Negri cinematic chemistry.

A Woman of the World (based on a popular 1924 novel by Carl Van Vechten, A Tattooed Countess) at first seems to be working an old-fashioned idea of how rubes narrow-mindedly reject a woman just because she has a tattoo. (The original novel was not really a comedy.) However, St. Clair and Negri know how to find the humanity and the humor in the situation, giving the film a modern vibe. 

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